Free Fall
by Nymue
Summary: [COMPLETE] Buffy closed the portal to save the world, but ended up in a strangely familiar body in a world where everything she ever knew took an oddly different course … and Wesley and Spike are only the beginning.
1. Falling Towards What, Exactly?

TITLE: Free Fall [1/4]  
  
CHALLENGE: Timeline  
  
AUTHOR: Nymue  
  
EMAIL: josette@aol.com  
  
SITE: http://lesanctuaire.dreamhost.com  
  
RATED: PG13  
  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Not yours. They belong to Joss, the WB, UPN and FOX. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction. No infringement is intended.  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Lex, Pamela, Deede and Lar (if they want it). All others please ask; I'll probably say yes, but ask first.  
  
SUMMARY: Buffy closed the portal to save the world, but ended up in a strangely familiar body in a world where everything she ever knew took an oddly different course ... and Wesley and Spike are only the beginning. AU exploration of what could have happened to Buffy after the portal closed.  
  
SPOILERS: "The Gift"  
  
FEEDBACK: Is much appreciated.  
  
***  
  
Part One: Falling Towards What, Exactly?  
  
***  
  
Thine eyes shall see the light of distant skies ...  
  
Gaze on them, till the tears shall dim thy sight,  
  
But keep that earlier, wilder image bright.  
  
-- William Cullen Bryant  
  
***  
  
Accepting destiny is never easy. Just ask anyone who has lost a loved one because he or she followed a calling or a cause, or someone who is dying from a terminal illness. Better yet, ask a Slayer.  
  
For millennia upon millennia, Slayers have been trained from birth so that they will not question, will not falter, merely accept their lot in life. Understanding is not necessary, only obedience, goes one saying. However, every so often there comes a Slayer who is different -- through an accident of birth, a lack of guidance, an epiphany or simply by virtue of a unique soul. These girls and young women do not meekly accept destiny, but fight until the end and often become restless spirits who seek to continue their lives and work.  
  
One such Slayer was all of the above. Born to an unwatched family, she was not given the proper training usually accorded a potential Slayer; after her Calling she fought with spirit and a sense of fairness denied and had many epiphanies ... she is truly a unique soul. Moreso, because when the time of reckoning arrived she accepted her destiny and her Gift. Yet, that core of tenacity lives on. The end of her life she readily accepted, that she was destined to die to save the world ... but beyond that? No, the rest of her balks at giving up. It is not so much peace that she seeks, but rather she wants to know that she is making a difference, creating an impact on the world.  
  
Simply put, she wants to *live.*  
  
And so it was that her soul left her body before its death, and flew into the portal that she sacrificed her life's blood to close. She travels now, seeking out new experiences without even knowing what it is she seeks. Buffy Summers is about to change her life.  
  
All of them.  
  
***  
  
In one instant there was the sensation of falling, of a battle so profound that it took all of her to fight ... yet there was nothing to do but fall. Falling to the ground she could no longer see, to everywhere, to nowhere, to destiny ... to death. There was sadness and grief, but peace and acceptance as well. And love, so much love that it burned her from the inside out, from the core of her soul to the tips of her toes.  
  
There was a battle to be won, though, a fight to win. So she summoned her will to fight, to protect ... but all she could do was fall.  
  
In the next instant there was a feeling of being sucked into something unknown and yet utterly familiar, uncertainty instead of peace, pain rather than grief and the unmistakable pull of Slayer senses.  
  
A jolting feeling forced Buffy Summers to open her eyes as she felt herself settle back into her body, but the sight that met her eyes filled her with confusion. She could easily have accepted seeing the top of the tower from the ground ... Dawn or Giles or Willow ... perhaps even her mother and Kendra if she had reached the other side of life. Any of these would have been preferable to finding herself in a familiarly unfamiliar body, sitting in a leather chair across from a power-suited woman with short, curly dark hair who was regarding her with a mix of loathing and smug holier-than-thou saccharine helpfulness. Her senses, Slayer senses, weaker but still there, confirmed the two were alone in an office -- a very nice office -- and from the faint traffic sounds she could hear through the walls that she was still on Earth.  
  
The woman -- Buffy noted that a gilded nameplate read Veronica Richards, M.D. -- eyed her closely. "What did you feel?"  
  
Confused and not a little shocked, Buffy absently responded. "Falling."  
  
Sleek eyebrows lifted skyward as a look of surprise crossed Dr. Richards' face. Carefully schooling her features not to reflect her shock, the doctor smiled. "Well, this is a bit of surprise, Buffy. What do you think it means?"  
  
The Slayer swung her eyes to meet the gray orbs that were so intently studying her and narrowed her own before lifting a shoulder. "I don't know," she whispered, trying to settle into her skin. It itched and felt too tight, too small, and her confusion was all too encompassing. "Maybe ... falling?"  
  
Buffy watched with no pleasure as a wave of frustration passed over the perfectly manicured doctor's expression and silently questioned the sudden sense of elation that past through her. Unsure just how she knew, she did know that this woman was not to be trusted; despite the tight feeling of her skin and the limited range of her senses, she somehow knew that this woman must be endured. However, the imp of perverse within -- and where did that come from, she wondered -- dictated that some enjoyment made the time pass more quickly. Unfortunately, a slight rap on the door brought a look of relief to the doctor, but also ended Buffy's tenuous foothold on reality.  
  
"Well, Buffy," Dr. Richards rose from her seat and crossed to perch on the desk in front of her. "I hope the rest of your week is pleasant, and perhaps next time we might explore this falling you mentioned. I know you must know, but the more you talk about how you feel helps us help you with your illness."  
  
Receiving no response from the shocked Slayer, she inwardly sighed. Why her? Why did she wind up with Henry Summers' messed up kid?  
  
Buffy's head swam with thoughts and feelings she was unable to place, let alone name, and she stood and moved towards the door in the hope that her head would clear enough to allow her to function with some semblance of Slayer capacity. Shaking off her confusion momentarily, she turned in the doorway and gave the woman a look demons had learned to fear. "I don't have an illness."  
  
Before the psychiatrist, and Buffy was sure she knew a shrink when she saw one, could say a word, she was out the door and in the lobby where she stopped, unsure of how to proceed now that she had a chance to think. However, the moment was broken when a paper was folded and she turned to her left only to find Wesley Wyndham-Price gripping her arm and leading her to the door.  
  
"What the ... " she started.  
  
"Not here," Wesley said in clipped tones.  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"In the car, Miss Summers, we will talk in the car," he told her in a voice that clearly said that she should already know this.  
  
Shaking her head, she allowed herself to be led from the building and out to the street where she came to a complete stop as she looked around. It was a foregone conclusion that she was not in Sunnydale -- she had decided that while still in the office -- but she had still thought to be somewhere in California, perhaps Los Angeles. She was not, then, expecting to see the outline of the Mall or the top of the Washington Monument from the curb.  
  
"What the hell?" she whispered, the sensation of falling once more overcoming her as the ground seemed to drop out from beneath her feet. However, unlike before the feeling quickly passed and she found herself on the receiving end of an impatient stare from Wesley, so she abandoned the sight and slid inside the sleek, shiny BMW and let him take the wheel.  
  
Silence reigned supreme as Buffy watched him navigate the seemingly mad traffic in the nation's capitol, glad for a few moments to collect her thoughts. Clearly, she was alive, but she was not at home; and she was just as clearly not dead and in the hereafter ... whatever it was. After filtering and discarding a hundred possibilities within the space of a minute, Buffy finally came to the conclusion that the portal she had given her life to close was somehow responsible. It was really the only viable option, after all -- this was not *her* body, but it was the body of Buffy Summers. If the portal that was opened was strong enough to tear down the barriers between dimensions, then surely it was strong enough to send her soul ricocheting through various alternate timelines ... crazy as it sounded.  
  
And Buffy was fast approaching the conclusion that crazy sounded pretty damn sane.  
  
Blinking back hot tears and clenching her fingers to avoid ripping the door open, Buffy fought the urge to demand that Wesley stop the car and explain what the hell was going on. She fought the urge to scream and shout, to cry and rage at the death that had eluded her once more. She mourned her sister, her family, forgotten friends, enemies and Angel, and she bit her lip as she swallowed the wail that threatened to spill over her lips. She cursed the Powers that had apparently abandoned her here, that had so flippantly disregarded the magnitude of her Gift.  
  
And she ignored the voice within that cried, nay, wept with such joy that she was still alive.  
  
It was the taste of her blood as well as Wesley's voice that pulled her mind from its seclusion. "I take it that your session with Dr. Richards went as usual?"  
  
Blood tastes like copper pennies suspended in the sweetest syrup, she thought, swallowing the precious fluid. "Usual?" she asked once she found her voice.  
  
Wesley sighed. "I do wish you would look on this opportunity as a chance to work through some of your more ... typical issues, Buffy. It behooves no one, least of all yourself, to continue with this rebellious front. I understand that you do not wish to see her, but you know as well as I that after your ordeal with the Kzatcha demon you were inadvertently diagnosed with borderline personality disorder ... "  
  
Buffy's mouth dropped open. A personality disorder?  
  
"And you know how lucky you are that your father realized how hard any organized school would be for you," he finished. "Only through sheer serendipity and a bit of magick was the Council able to appoint me as you tutor ... and even that was quite fortuitous."  
  
Huh?  
  
"And speaking of such," he continued as he slowed the car and entered an older, residential neighborhood. Even at only twenty miles an hour Buffy felt as if the scenery was a giant blur, but she could hazily make out houses that looked like the much more somber sisters of the beautiful Painted Ladies she and her mother and Dawn had seen years ago on a weekend trip to San Francisco.  
  
Mom, her anguished mind called.  
  
Dawnie! her heart screamed.  
  
"Buffy, please!"  
  
She jerked around to see a pained expression on Wesley's face. "While I know I may tend to drone on, as you put it, you could at least pay some heed to my words, Miss Summers. As I was saying ... "  
  
Buffy nodded, and tried to look alert.  
  
His eyes softened just a touch; had she not been looking she doubted she would have seen it. "You need not patrol tonight, Buffy. I have no doubt this has been a trying day and you should spend the remainder of the weekend resting. We'll resume lessons on Monday morning at nine."  
  
The Slayer shook her head to clear away the cobwebs, but was so unsuccessful that she smiled at Wesley and, once she realized the car had stopped, turned to let herself out. As she slipped out of the shiny vehicle, she gazed up at white Italianate Victorian house with dark blue trim in astonishment ... before her gaze made out the name on the mailbox.  
  
SUMMERS.  
  
Her mouth fell slightly agape as she shakily pushed open the wrought iron gate, vaguely registering the click as it fell shut behind her and the sound of the BMW pulling away from the curb. In front of her loomed something so unclear and uncertain it left her breathless -- it was only a house, she told herself. A very nice house, she amended as she climbed the stairs to the large, covered porch.  
  
A house your father lives in, a little voice reminded.  
  
Fully on autopilot by this time, Buffy rummaged through the bag she had absentmindedly taken from the car until she found a set of keys. This body must be familiar with this, she thought, surprised that the first key that came to hand had opened the door. Stepping over the threshold was easier than she would have imagined it's just a doorway and she was immediately swept away by the dark, glossy hardwood floor and the stained glass ceiling that cast colorful patterns on everything around her. Mesmerized, she stood silently still and stared at the beams and fractals of light that inhabited this room, struck by the beauty and the sacrilege of the scene. Surely nothing this beautiful should exist outside of a sacred space, she thought dizzily.  
  
"Well, you're home then," a voice from the periphery called. "Your father called to tell you he'd be home late ... some meeting with the Committee, he said ... "  
  
Buffy frowned. She knew that voice from somewhere ...  
  
"I'm making baked chicken with that pepper and onion sauce you like for supper ... "  
  
A hand clasped against her mouth. It couldn't be ...  
  
"And I thought about frying some rice and peppers in ginger to go with it, what d'you think?"  
  
No, no, it wasn't possible.  
  
An older woman with graying hair and a musical voice stepped into the foyer and stopped, staring at the stricken blonde. "Buffy, are you all right?"  
  
"Mattie," Buffy whispered, unbelieving. How could this be? This was Mattie, her parents' old housekeeper who had looked after her from before memory until a year or so after Dawn was born and Mom decided to stay home --  
  
"Lovey?" Mattie questioned, alarmed. "Should I call the doctor?"  
  
Eyes wide and luminous with unshed tears, Buffy's legs slid out from under her and she fell to the floor in a heap. More concerned with Buffy than with a doctor who might not even be in, Mattie dropped to her knees next to the prone Slayer and clasped the pale face between her two hands. "Tell me, Buffy! What's wrong?"  
  
But Buffy couldn't hear. Her mind saw only the scenes of yesteryear, images of her parents and her little sister when they were still so happy; then flashes of Tyler and Pike and Merrick, the feel of the first vampire she'd ever dusted, a glimpse of a burning gym and a frantic Dawn, Giles in the library. Willow and Xander and Cordelia at Sunnydale High, Angel lurking in the shadows but ready to help, the Master in his lair, her mother's face after Parent-Teacher night, Angel sick from the spell to restore Drusilla, her mother's relief and her sister's continual fear after Ted was truly gone, the glory and pain of her one night with Angel, Angelus and his twisted obsession.  
  
Angel in the instant she plunged the sword into his chest.  
  
Coming home, Mom's relief, Dawn's anger, the resentment, the guilt, Angel's return, Faith, Oz, Anya, love Angel, love Mom, love Dawn, no more Angel, so tired, so cold, happy Willow and Oz, Parker, Veruca, sad Willow, angry with Angel, kissing Spike, Riley - Riley - Riley, distance, Faith again -- bad, bad, bad -- Angel angry, Angel hit, Mom hurt, Dawn upset, Willow and Tara, Riley hurt, Angel back, Adam, fight, Primal Slayer, Riley, Mom happy, Dawn pissy, need to know more, worried, so worried, Mommy hurt, Dawn not real, Glory, Giles, Key, Dawnie, cutting Mommy, no more Riley, happy Mommy and happy Dawnie, Spike is sick, Mommy gone, Dawnie upset, everything stops but doesn't, Death as Gift, Angel back, Angel care but Mommy gone and Dawnie upset, Dawnie gone, must get to Dawnie, have to save Dawnie, take care of her, love her, love Mommy, Love them all, Mommy, Dawnie, Willow, Xander, Giles/Daddy, Angel, Angel, Angel, Mommy, Anya, Dawnie, Tara, Dawnie, Mom, Mom, Mom --  
  
"Mommy!" she wailed as the tears poured from her eyes and her body was wracked with sobs.  
  
Mattie blinked back her own tears as she rocked the slender girl in her arms. "I know, lovey, I know."  
  
[end part one] 


	2. Rough Landing

TITLE: Free Fall [2/4]  
  
CHALLENGE: Timeline  
  
AUTHOR: Nymue  
  
EMAIL: josette@aol.com  
  
SITE: http://lesanctuaire.dreamhost.com  
  
RATED: PG13  
  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Not yours. They belong to Joss, the WB, UPN and FOX. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction. No infringement is intended.  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Lex, Pamela, Deede and Lar (if they want it). All others please ask; I'll probably say yes, but ask first.  
  
SUMMARY: Buffy closed the portal to save the world, but ended up in a strangely familiar body in a world where everything she ever knew took an oddly different course ... and Wesley and Spike are only the beginning. AU exploration of what could have happened to Buffy after the portal closed.  
  
SPOILERS: "The Gift"  
  
FEEDBACK: Is much appreciated  
  
***  
  
Part Two: Rough Landing  
  
***  
  
It does not so much matter what happens. It is what one does when it happens that really counts.  
  
-- Laura Ingalls Wilder  
  
***  
  
Hours later Buffy opened her eyes to see the white gabled roof of her bedroom huh, my bedroom illuminated by the diffused light from the partially opened windows. She vaguely remembered Mattie mentioning that the few warm winter days were simply too nice to keep the house shut up, and turned her head to gaze at the long casements. The windows were only raised about eight inches, but it was enough to allow the sheer curtains to flutter in the crisp, late fall breeze and make faint shadows on the walls. When she allowed her eyes to follow the straight lines up the juncture of the roof, she noticed the Venetian blinds completely raised and that iron scrollwork adorned the ends of the curtain rods.  
  
It was strange, this mix of things her own yet not her own. Iron scrollwork occupied space on the same wall as her Van Gogh 'Starry Night' prints and her many ice-skating plaques and pictures, while the antique furniture had been painted in shades of white and yellow and was littered with everything from clothes to CDs to body lotions to scented candles and hair clasps. It was surreal, she decided as she sat up and swung her legs around to dangle off the bed. Padding across the room, she took stock of her clothes for the first time, belatedly noting the now crumpled skirt and coordinating twin-set as she pulled them off and left them where they landed.  
  
A turn to the side offered her a glance into a large, full-length oval mirror, and Buffy studied herself myself in the glass. Technically there were no big differences, no scars or tattoos and pierced eyebrows, but she couldn't help but grimace as she looked in the mirror. "What possessed you to dye your hair platinum and streak it with burgundy?" she asked the picture stuck on the side of the mirror. "Cause I can think of better ways to rebel."  
  
With no answer forthcoming, she shrugged and pulled the shoulder-length tresses into a low ponytail and dug through various drawers until she found a pair of jeans and a cotton camisole that met with her approval. The change of clothes, however, did nothing to stop the feeling that her skin was too tight, and she rubbed her hands up and down her arms as she paced until she finally dropped into a lotus position and drew a long, deep breath. Another soon followed, then another until she could feel herself calming ... floating within her skin borrowed skin ... reaching deep inside to find her center. The journey, one that she had mastered just within the past year, took her longer than she remembered and the center seemed off somehow.  
  
"Of course," she grumbled, jolting out of the trance. "This isn't my body."  
  
The trance did help, though. Pulling herself off the floor Buffy looked around to find a clock, both surprised yet unsurprised to discover that it was barely 7pm and that she could feel the first rumblings of hunger begin. "I guess I should go eat," she whispered to the empty room.  
  
***  
  
Hours later, stuffed with delicious food and the answers to some of her questions, Buffy made her way back up the stairs while her mind digested the newly acquired information. She had always known that her father was married to his work, but she had never considered that he might actually be good enough to lobby on a national level. It was weird, knowing he had done so well. What made everything worse was Mattie's explanation about her mother's conspicuous absence oh, God, Mommy and her avoidance when presented with subtle pushes about Sunnydale. This Buffy had lived in Sunnydale, she had no doubts about that, but something had happened there that no one wanted to talk about.  
  
Except that it was why her mother was in a hospital.  
  
Eyes closed from the pain of memory, Buffy toed open her door and set a small tray on the nearby dresser before she opened her eyes. Strange, that she knew this room as well as her own. Or not so strange, maybe -- this body still retained its memories, imprints of things that were seeping through her shields despite all attempts to the contrary. Shaking her head to ward off confusion, Buffy stood in the center of the room and tipped her head back to face the ceiling.  
  
"If I were me, where would I hide my diaries?"  
  
The answer welled up deep within her mind and she turned unflinchingly in the correct direction and soon held three small books with leather covers in her hands. She stared at the volumes for a long minute before closing the door and wedging a chair beneath the handle, a provision to insure her privacy as long as possible. Dropping onto the bed she opened one of the diaries and began to read ...  
  
***  
  
--May 12, 1997--  
  
I should've known nothing would be easy. Okay, yeah, I survived the Master because Xander gave me CPR ... and yeah, the old bat's just so much dust and bone along with the Anointed One ... but Angelus and Darla are still out there. Maybe they're a little weaker now -- that fight with the Master hurt both of them -- but they'll be back. There's too much power here for them to just give it up. Giles has promised to keep an eye on things, and I made Xander and Willow promise to lay low, or better yet leave town. Wish I didn't have to go to D.C.; even with Mom, it's always so boring in the summer.  
  
***  
  
Buffy gasped aloud, her eyes widening. Angelus? And *Darla*? Her mind was racing with thoughts as vague images impressed themselves on her like a fuzzy television reception. How was it that the gypsy curse was broken? There seemed no mention, no indication of emotional pain in conjunction to Angelus, something she found quite unnerving for some odd reason. Why am I bothered by that, she wondered as she paged backwards through the diary, searching for answers. A few moments later Buffy found her reason.  
  
There was no mention of Angel.  
  
Nothing at all.  
  
It was as if he never existed, she realized after her heart resumed beating in her throat. A world without Angel. Is this like the world without shrimp? Her mind skirted the implications of what she had found even as she wanted, no needed, to know ... until she realized that the answers were bound between the covers of the diaries. Trembling, she reached for the books once more, determined to read through them and discover just what sort of life she might have had.  
  
***  
  
--August 29, 1997--  
  
Back to school, back to school.  
  
Joy.  
  
Giles said everything was pretty quiet all summer and so sayeth my trusty Slayerettes. God, what a moniker or title, whatever. Can't they see that I want to be alone? Summer in D.C. was just so much wasted time, even if Mattie was there to help. Can we say boring? How am I supposed to *live* there later?  
  
And could Snyder hate me anymore?  
  
Can Cordelia be a bigger bitch?  
  
--August 30, 1997--  
  
I'm the bigger bitch, not Cordelia.  
  
That scares me.  
  
I don't want to feel that way anymore, I just wanna be the girl I was, the Slayer I was. Bashing in the Anointed One's skull really helped matters along, because I spent all summer thinking I'd killed him even though I hadn't. Giles said the fire must have been put out but that all the ashes were the ashes of newbie vamps left to burn. Surprise, surprise, the Anointed cared nothing about his followers.  
  
Anyway, me and Wills and Xander bonded over mochas at the Bronze tonight and made up. Cordelia was eyeing us from her perch, but I could care less. I'm back with my buds and the world's still here, so it was a good night. Oooh, and Willow's sleeping over so we can talk some more. I hated feeling like I didn't want her around, so this is of the good.  
  
***  
  
Guess some things never change, Buffy mused as the first diary fell closed. She flipped open the covers of the next two to find the continuation. It was a lovely piece of work; soft green tooled leather with stamped gold -- that faded classy color, not the brassy stuff found on department store diaries -- patterns along the edges in the shape of climbing vines. It was elegant and sturdy all at once, an older journal that had seen no use until she other me had written on the thick cream-colored pages. Immediately she knew it had to have been a gift from Giles. Only he would have given her such a gift.  
  
Well, he or Angel, but ...  
  
***  
  
--October 27, 1997--  
  
When Giles said he was giving me a diary I had no idea it would be something like this, though I probably should have expected it. After my other little journal burned up in the backfire -- literally -- from Willow's spell, he promised me something to write in that was not loose leaf paper. It's so different from anything I've ever owned ... it's old, a given, but it's classy and sleek and it makes me feel special. Kinda like Giles.  
  
I can't say I miss the old one *too* much. It was just a cheap little something to write in while I looked for a new diary. I gladly sacrificed it to Willow's spell ... she's getting stronger every day, especially now that Ms. Calendar's teaching her the ropes. Giles knows a lot, yeah, but Will needs someone else too, and I think it kinda had to be a woman's touch. Anyway, she babbled an apology even after I told her not to bother -- there was nothing important written in those few pages. Just your typical vamp dusted, Xander and Cordelia in the closet stuff -- you know, the usual.  
  
Come to think, it's probably a good thing that she burned that diary. She's not pining for Xander anymore, but I don't think she's up to knowing about X and C yet. It could hurt her more than she should ever be hurt. And I don't wanna see her hurt.  
  
Ever.  
  
--October 31, 1997--  
  
Talk about a kooky Halloween. Someone tell me why I chose to dress up like an eighteenth century lady, cause I'm at a loss. No, I'm not. It was Cordelia's fault -- again, why am I surprised? -- with all her talk about me being "little miss likes to fight" and Snyder's decree that we all dress up ... I was just suckered in. I needed a costume that wasn't me, and that seemed perfect. How was I supposed to know about Giles and his sordid past with a sorcerer named Ethan?  
  
It could have been worse. Giles might not have been able to break the spell and I would have ended up a vampire. Yeah, that's right. Trust Angelus and Darla to play dirty on Halloween. Especially Angelus. I'm not sure where Darla was most of the night (probably out wreaking havoc), but Angelus found me ... interesting, I guess. I can say now that he was disgusted by the Simpering Lady Buffy, but he stayed with me all evening as we walked through town and acted like the perfect gentleman. But when he had me bent over backwards in that warehouse ... I can shiver now, let myself be afraid now.  
  
He made his minions hold Darla back because she was yelling and spitting and saying he was hers ... The look in his eyes wasn't hate or violence or even bloodlust.  
  
It was just plain lust.  
  
I have never been so scared, not even when the Master killed me. Then the spell broke and I sat up and knocked him back ... and I swear that, just for a minute, he looked even more interested than before. And Darla ... she screeched and pulled at him and dragged him away before we could fight.  
  
I told Giles later, and he polished his glasses for a long time and then told me this would mean trouble. He's been reading up on Angelus' history ever since spring, collecting useful tidbits that might help me kill the Scourge of Europe. Cute title, bet chicks love it. Well, demon chicks. Anyway, apparently Angelus is now officially interested in me, which means I can expect him to sort of ... how did Giles put it? Oh, yes, "he will attempt to eradicate your family and friends as a form of demonic courtship." But wait -- it gets better. Darla's the jealous sort, so I can expect her to want to kill me more, and that much sooner.  
  
Uh huh.  
  
Gee, my life is so interesting.  
  
Not that that was the end of it, no, it got worse. Willow saw X and C kissing after the spell was broken and asked if she could spend the night with me. Mom was still in NY so it was no problem. We talked about all sorts of stuff, from why I chose that damn dress to how she felt when she saw them. Funny, she didn't cry, said she'd shed the last of her tears over Xander that summer and was moving on. She's upset because it *Cordelia* of all people, and I kinda agree. Why Cordelia?  
  
So, a little slumber party to round out a bad evening. And you know, it made it all worthwhile.  
  
--November 10, 1997--  
  
There's only supposed to be one Chosen One! Kinda goes with the whole Chosen *One* thing, right?  
  
Right.  
  
So where does this Kendra chick come from? And why is she here?  
  
--November 12, 1997--  
  
Disaster averted, confusion explained.  
  
Since I died this past spring another Slayer was called, so, Kendra. It makes sense, I guess, and it was a good thing she was around because Angelus is really making a nuisance of himself. He shows up and exchanges a few punches then disappears, then later the next morning I learn that five people turned up dead of the Sunnydale Neck Rupture.  
  
This has gotta stop, but I can't seem to pin him down and so far we've had no luck locating his lair, location, whatever.  
  
What's worse is that I think he's spying on me.  
  
--November 27, 1997--  
  
Oh, God.  
  
Oh, god, oh god, oh god ...  
  
Oh. My. God.  
  
It happened. It finally happened. I finally did it.  
  
I kissed Willow.  
  
Oh, my God.  
  
Then she kissed me back.  
  
Heaven help us both!  
  
It started so innocently, or panicked, depending ... both, I guess. Willow all but flew through my door a couple of hours ago, flushed and terrified because Angelus had been stalking her while she walked over. And why was she out alone after dark? She didn't feel safe at home tonight, though she couldn't say why. I pushed her upstairs so she wouldn't wake Mom (who fell asleep on the couch while watching an old black and white comedy) and got her to calm down. Still, she was fidgety, wanted to stay over because her parents were in San Francisco for the week, so I just grabbed an extra blanket and we cuddled under the covers and talked.  
  
I can't say I did it on purpose. She was worried about this new obsession Angelus has -- namely, me -- scared of the threat he posed, upset, and strangely a bit upset that Xander hadn't told her about him and Cordelia sooner. When I mentioned that it probably never crossed his mind to share about a relationship, period, but especially one with Cordelia, she snorted and said of course it didn't. Just like he never realized that she'd had a crush on him for years.  
  
That threw me. Willow had never referred to her feelings for Xander as a crush; she'd always said that she loved him. When I asked, she sighed and told me that she'd realized over the summer that she was no longer "pining" for Xander, that her feelings had been real for a time, but they had changed without her even knowing. She credits Jesse's death as the beginning of that realization, and said the Hellmouth experience with the Master this spring settled it. I guess a near death experience will do that.  
  
Anyhow, she didn't say anymore. We just sat in silence until I noticed she was still trembling with fear ... she babbled about everything we're facing, all the vague prophecies and the problems with Angelus and Darla ... and it just happened.  
  
I just leaned in and pressed my lips to hers, more than a simple brush but no real action. As soon as I realized what I had done I pulled away, and she was very still as she pressed a finger to her mouth.  
  
And a second later she kissed me back.  
  
It was wonderful. So different from kissing Pike or Owen, but so very nice and ... sparky, was the word she used. Cause sparks started. I tingled all over and I swear I blushed.  
  
Oh, God, what are we gonna do?  
  
--November 28, 1997--  
  
Willow and I talked this afternoon. It was kinda scary, full of awkward silences and we both babbled a lot, but in the end it boiled down to this: we both feel more strongly about each other than anyone else. So, we're going to see where this goes. No dating other guys, just spending more time together and whatever happens, happens. It feels a little odd, but really good all at the same time -- kinda like it was supposed to be like this. Who knows, maybe it was.  
  
In other news ... Giles started me on sword training today, he said I needed every weapon available in case Angelus or Darla (or some new badie) decides that blades are the way to go. Hey, whatever works. And it's fun, too. At least it's better than quarterstaffs.  
  
Nothing's up on the vamp front ... makes me think someone's planning something.  
  
It's just too quiet.  
  
***  
  
The diary slipped from Buffy's numb fingers. Me and Willow, Buffy wondered. How did that happen? Well, how it happened was detailed -- a bit vaguely, but detailed all the same -- in the diaries, but she was shocked at it all the same. So many differences, but so many similarities as well ... it was just too much. Her mind reeling, Buffy listened to the house until she was sure its inhabitants were asleep (and how typical of her Dad not to come by and at least ask her about her day) before finding a pair of boots and a couple of stakes. A tailored leather jacket over the cotton camisole top completed the ensemble, and she stuffed pillows under the covers of her bed before raising the window and carefully climbing down the lattice that would be covered with roses come summer.  
  
She landed on her feet in front of a window and automatically ducked, but sighed with relief when she peered over the sill and took in the darkened formal dining room that was closed off. Mattie had mentioned that they rarely used it, she remembered, the older British born housekeeper quietly bemoaning the way the family had simply fallen apart. As she picked her way through the yard and out of the neighborhood, noting road signs and landmarks although she seemed to know where she was going, she thought about what Mattie had said -- and what she hadn't said. Most of her talk centered around upcoming house renovations and Wesley (whom she found "quite well put together") with tangents that easily included Buffy, but very little was said about her father. And, despite her earlier outburst in the hall, Buffy found it odd that nothing was mentioned about her "illness" or her mother.  
  
Which was damned odd, Buffy thought as she strolled through a busy, well-lit area full of restaurants, theaters and game halls, because Mom was always Mattie's favorite. Hell, Mattie had been her maternal grandparent's housekeeper when her mother was in high school. So what, she wondered, was Mattie doing in Washington with Hank Summers? Was she there because Mom was in the hospital? Still, why? In her memory, Mattie had left after Dawn was born because her mother had decided to stay home with her girls.  
  
But Dawn was a ball of energy, a little voice in her head whispered. Who knows what really happened. Maybe Mattie would have stayed.  
  
Maybe, she thought. But she obviously didn't, or the monks would have manipulated her memories to include Mattie afterwards ... that she had no memories of Mattie after Dawn's birth meant that Mattie must have left for another reason.  
  
Strange, all of this. Would she have done the same things, she wondered, given the same circumstances? Possibly, she finally admitted after staring into the depths of the Potomac for close to a quarter hour. Like Alice after she went through the looking glass, Buffy sighed. Too many things to take in ...  
  
"Something interestin' in the river tonight, pet?"  
  
A chill ran up Buffy's spine as the familiar voice whispered in her ear, the smell of his leather and cigarettes tickling her nose. But before she could answer, he spoke again.  
  
"Or are you thinking about jumping?"  
  
Shocked, angry, happy ... emotions warred as she spun to face Spike, who was leaning against the rail studying her intently. "A bit subtle tonight, aren't we? What happened to those lovely pink leather pants and that gold lace corset, hmmm?"  
  
Buffy's eyes widened as she stared at him. Pink leather and gold lace, she thought incredulously. And a *corset?* "What the hell are you talking about, Spike?"  
  
He took a final draw from the cigarette before crushing it beneath his boot. "You, pet. Your usual attire. What'd you think I meant?"  
  
"Quit kidding, Spike, I would never -- "  
  
However, before she could finish the sentence, Spike had grabbed her arms and spun her around until her back was to the rail. Glaring down into her eyes he growled, "*You* might not ... but Buffy would."  
  
Unable to speak she watched as his face shifted, his yellow demon eyes as demanding as his voice.  
  
"So, who the hell are you?"  
  
[end part 2] 


	3. Gaining a Foothold

TITLE: Free Fall [3/4]  
  
CHALLENGE: Timeline  
  
AUTHOR: Nymue  
  
EMAIL: josette@aol.com  
  
SITE: http://lesanctuaire.dreamhost.com  
  
RATED: PG13  
  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Not yours. They belong to Joss, the WB, UPN and FOX. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction. No infringement is intended.  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Lex, Pamela, Deede and Lar (if they want it). All others please ask; I'll probably say yes, but ask first.  
  
SUMMARY: Buffy closed the portal to save the world, but ended up in a strangely familiar body in a world where everything she ever knew took an oddly different course ... and Wesley and Spike are only the beginning. AU exploration of what could have happened to Buffy after the portal closed.  
  
SPOILERS: "The Gift"  
  
FEEDBACK: Is much appreciated  
  
***  
  
Part Three: Gaining a Foothold  
  
***  
  
I do not want to keep to myself,  
  
but none see the brand on my forehead  
  
save you and the few who can look me in the face.  
  
I pass unseen, my shawl wrapped around me.  
  
Choosing to walk alone, I return to myself.  
  
-- Gloria Anzaldua, from "Cancion de la Diosa de la Noche"  
  
***  
  
In less than a space of a heartbeat Buffy realized several things. That the cold spray on the back of her neck was due to the wind whipping across the water, that her position was precarious as long as she inhabited this body because her senses were dulled and her reaction time slightly off ...  
  
And that even in this world she knew Spike in a more-than-enemy sense.  
  
Hazel-green eyes met yellow and held the gaze for an indeterminable amount of time, watching as demonic amber slowly faded back to the human blue to which she was more accustomed. It was odd, she reflected, the way it happened. She had once watched Angel's eyes change, so she knew it was not an instantaneous transformation, yet it was not one that was easily observable either. It was a slow shift, one to the other. It started with the spark of the demonic, that flare that foretold death and pain, disappearing from the orbs and was followed by tiny amber flecks slowly being replaced by the human blue. Eventually every speck of amber was replaced, but whereas with Angel she could see his soul in those fathomless depths in Spike there was none to shine through ... yet his cerulean orbs were still full of emotion.  
  
His face was blank except for those expressive eyes until he lifted the scarred eyebrow. Buffy tried desperately to blank her own face but failed, her emotions too explosive and close to the surface of this body that was just ever so slightly wrong.  
  
"You're not Buffy," he said slowly. "But you are Buffy."  
  
Gee, he's good, she thought, almost too good. How does he know me her so well? And do I want to know? "I'm Buffy Summers," she replied, unconsciously deciding to trust him with the truth that she could tell no one else. "I'm just not the Buffy you know ... I mean, this is her body, yeah, but I'm in the driver's seat and I don't know why ... "  
  
"How?"  
  
Buffy shook her head, platinum and burgundy locks whipping about wildly. "I'm not sure ... I don't know!"  
  
"Still," he countered. "There must have been something ... maybe a spell?"  
  
Mention of a spell, and the reason she was standing in front of him and not in whatever constituted the afterlife, catapulted Buffy's already tumultuous thoughts into a head spin. Her thoughts were all but unrecognizable as various conflicting memories flitted across her mindscape --  
  
Mattie left when Dawn was born because Mom decided to quit working and stay home ...   
  
Mattie left because Mom and Dad had a fight about Mom working ... Mom chose to stay home ... and Mattie hated the fights ... she thought Mom deserved better ...   
  
Mattie never left, she just moved to Sunnydale with us and when we finally moved to Washington after ... after Mom was attacked she came with us to take care of me and Dad 'til Mom's better ...   
  
"What the hell?" she whispered, raising a hand to her head.  
  
"Pet?" came the concerned voice of her companion. "You okay?"  
  
"No," she whispered. "No, I'm not okay. I'm as far from 'okay' as it's possible to get!"  
  
"You look fine, a bit peaked, but fine," he replied, crossing his arms and staring.  
  
"I'm not fine!" she yelled. "I'm not even supposed to be here! I should be dead, Spike. Dead! Do you understand? Dead! I made that jump to close the portal because death is my gift, and I don't know how I got here or why I'm here or what is going on! Do you understand?"  
  
Exhausted, Buffy collapsed onto the pavement and cried, mourning her life and her loved ones and once more giving voice to all the frustrations and confusion she had felt over the past seven hours. Tears streamed from her eyes and her chest heaved with the force of her grief as she let it all out, careless that she was showing weakness in front of her enemy.  
  
For his part, Spike took all this in with a mind that had seen innumerable oddities in his 126 years as a vampire. However, seeing his erstwhile mortal enemy, drinking partner and all-around nemesis crying at his feet didn't fill him with any sort of pleasure. No, not even a shred, he realized with something akin to shock. All those years with Drusilla must have rubbed off, he thought wryly, otherwise he would have considered this the ultimate wet dream.  
  
"Finished?" he asked, sinking down on his haunches and lifting the stray strands of hair away from her face so that he could see her eyes.  
  
Buffy lifted haunted eyes to his and sniffed, but she nodded all the same. He gave her a hand up and motioned to the concrete bench a few feet away and a few minutes later they both sat staring at each other until Spike produced a bottle of brandy. She took a long draw and winced at the burning sensation as it traveled through her system, but managed to croak out her thanks regardless.  
  
"You're welcome," he said, knocking back a long draw of his own. "Now, tell me."  
  
Hesitantly, faltering in places, pausing to cry and take needed gulps of brandy, she told him. Everything, from her birth until the jump to save Dawn and waking up in the doctor's office. She left nothing out; Buffy spoke candidly about her life, her Calling, Giles, Angel and Angelus, Willow and Xander and the Spike she had known. He listened as she detailed her failed relationship with Riley, Dawn, Glory, her mother's illness and death ... and about her own death wish. When she finally lapsed into silence her throat was scratchy, and when the watch strapped to her wrist beeped two times she realized after a quick glance that what had been a fairly busy place a few hours ago was nearly deserted. The only ones remaining were the prostitutes and the johns, and it startled her to know that she and Spike could easily be considered the same thing.  
  
As if sensing the turn in her thoughts, he smirked and shook his head. "Sorry, pet, they don't see us that way. Even though you -- or the other you -- dresses the part we're always seen together, never with anyone else ... not around here, at least."  
  
"Oh," she whispered.  
  
Spike laughed. "No, with that outfit you look like Daddy's slightly angst-ridden little girl out meeting her punk boyfriend. No street whore wears jeans with a hip-length tailored leather coat and boots, not around here."  
  
Buffy snorted then gave a tiny smile. "I guess not."  
  
Silence reigned between the two until Buffy took a deep breath an asked, "Why are you here, Spike? I mean, why do you care?"  
  
"Maybe you're not the only one with a death wish, pet. Both of us -- or maybe I should say all three of us -- are in a similar state."  
  
"Except my body is dead and buried in another dimension," she pointed out.  
  
"Yeah," he chuckled bitterly as he lit another cigarette.  
  
"So ... "  
  
"So ... wanna take a walk, get another drink?"  
  
Buffy narrowed her eyes, but a gust of wind blew her hair flat against the back of her head and she all but growled as she pushed her the strands out of her face. Spike snickered and she sighed, nodding. "Okay, let's be elsewhere."  
  
The walk through back alleys and side streets was mostly quiet, the silence broken only by the fizzing of neon signs, distant car horns and the vague sounds of life what kind of life? that came from the few residential buildings they passed. Buffy tuned into these things on some unknown level, skirting holes and obstructions with barely a glance, wondering as she did why she was able to do so. Perhaps it's because this body remembers, she thought, kind of like being on autopilot when you're too upset or too tired to pay attention to the usual things. But that would mean that the other Buffy did this regularly, and for some reason that bothered her even if Spike was acting a bit differently from the Spike she remembered. And speaking of ...  
  
"Why are you here?" she asked again.  
  
At first she thought he wasn't going to answer, but he blew out the last of the smoke and tossed the cigarette into a puddle of water then started to speak. "I'm here because ... where else should I be?" He shrugged. "Things happened a bit differently here, Slayer."  
  
Buffy started slightly at that. Obviously there had been differences but she hadn't thought that would extend to everyone which, she realized suddenly, was very shortsighted of her. "Oh ... I mean, of course things are different. I got that much from my -- *her* -- diaries. I guess what I'm trying to ask is, what changed? What else is different?"  
  
"And," her voice cracked. "Could you ... can you tell me about Sunnydale?"  
  
Spike stopped in front of a recessed door that she wouldn't have noticed had she not been looking for it. He stared down at her, eyebrow raised. "I thought you read the diaries."  
  
Buffy shook her head, her eyes full of sadness and confusion. "Not all of them," she confessed. "I just ... couldn't. Everything is different ... and those diaries are so very personal ... I just *can't.*"  
  
"Yeah, I can see that," he nodded, then pounded on the door. A moment later an imposing Fyarl demon opened the door a crack and grunted a few words, to which Spike responded in the same language. The demon's eyes flicked over Buffy and she would swear she saw him grin, but the look was quickly gone -- if it had ever existed.  
  
The bar was a sanctuary of sorts, she realized, remembering Angel telling her about a place he occasionally patronized in Los Angeles. Unlike his description of that place, this one was very different; more a pool hall slash biker bar than a karaoke lounge. It was almost clichéd, with dim lighting, smoke clouds instead of air and an assemblage of patrons from trendy to Goth to overtly demonic and everything in between. A long bar spanned nearly the entire length of the room, complete with round tattered leather topped stools and two bartenders that were all but caricatures of Mutt and Jeff. Buffy stifled her laughter as Spike led her past a pool table to a secluded booth in the back of the room, far from the prying ears in the front, only allowing the smile to play along her lips as she settled into the springy seat. Before she could speak, however, a young light blue skinned demon appeared in front the table, head cocked to the side.  
  
"Any preferences?" Spike asked as he flicked the metal lid of the lighter closed.  
  
Buffy shrugged. "Whatever."  
  
"Whiskey, then," he told the demon, who nodded and disappeared as silently as she'd arrived.  
  
They said nothing until the waitress returned not with two shot glasses of whiskey, as Buffy expected, but with two empty faded glass tumblers and a bottle of Glenfidich single malt. Though she knew little about alcohol in general -- other than that drinking usually resulted in something wiggy happening -- she did recognize the bottle and label as one her mother had kept back. 'A little something special,' she'd said when Buffy had asked. Too fine to be wasted, it was something to savored, and her eyes stung with barely repressed tears as she thought of her mother. After the funeral, after Angel had gone back to LA and she was alone, she had found that bottle and consumed half of its contents in an effort to both remember her mother and yet forget her mother's death. She didn't regret her indulgence either, even after the heady daze she had floated in had disappeared. Perhaps Dawn would find that half-drunk bottle and do the same, she thought wryly. And the family tradition  
will continue.  
  
"Problem?"  
  
"No," she replied, sliding her finger along the rim of her now full glass. "Just a bit surprised, that's all."  
  
"That's the beauty of this place," he said, gesturing to the dingy place around them. "It's not much, and I still don't know how they pass health inspections -- got my suspicions, though -- but they stock some of the best damn liquor on the planet."  
  
Buffy nodded. "This is good stuff ... my mother kept a bottle up in the cabinet, saving it for a special occasion. I drank half of it in one sitting after her funeral."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah ... I just wanted ... "  
  
Spike shook his head. "I get it, pet. So, you want to know what's what?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"Not too much to tell, really," he began, sipping from the cracked tumbler. "Here it was Drusilla that those thrice damned gypsies cursed, not Angelus, though I think you got that already."  
  
"Yeah ... "  
  
"Darla, the wicked bitch of the west, managed to convince Angelus to stake her ... she was still mad, madder even, afterwards because her demon was so strong, but her mad, innocent soul was ascendant. The two were constantly fighting, so in one instant she'd be my ripe wicked plum, ready to hunt and in the next she was throwing herself on church altars, begging her Christ's forgiveness."  
  
"And the visions," he whispered bleakly. "The visions were the worst because she just sort of fell to pieces ... nothing made any sense anymore."  
  
Buffy exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Drusilla's ... dust?"  
  
"No."  
  
"But, you said ... "  
  
"I said Darla managed to convince Angelus to stake her," he corrected. "Not that he did so. It took months too, because Angelus was always fond of Dru ... but in the end Darla prevailed."  
  
"Bitch," Buffy muttered.  
  
"Still," Spike continued. "It was Angelus that hurt us the most. He was really ready to do it, you know. My Sire, the demon I ... oh yeah, Dru turned me, but he trained me, shared his blood with me, molded me into the type of killer he thought I should be. I'd never really hated him before that day ... "  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"I heard him agree," he said abruptly. "It was close to dawn and Darla was 'needy' so he decided to wait until sundown. I waited 'til after the noon bells, then grabbed Dru and a few of our things and escaped the house through the tunnels. Nabbed us a closed hackney right before dusk and was on a train bound for Russia before the sun had set. They followed us for a while but gave up. No one to party with in Russia, after all, and that's all Darla cared about. She had her darling boy all to herself again, until last year."  
  
Buffy frowned. "What happened?"  
  
"To whom?"  
  
"To Drusilla," she replied softly.  
  
He sighed unnecessarily. "She was injured in Prague and needed her Sire's blood to heal."  
  
"Sounds familiar."  
  
"Thought it might." He lit another cigarette. "I heard he was living on the Hellmouth and decided to try approaching him about helping her ... it'd been a hundred years, nearly. Bygones, you know? And if he was willing to help her, then the ritual wouldn't kill him. I found him in a war with his Dam and obsessed with a certain blonde Slayer," he said pointedly.  
  
Buffy jerked out of her story-induced daze. "Huh? I mean, the diaries hinted, but ... "  
  
"Where'd you stop reading?"  
  
"November 28," Buffy frowned.  
  
He nodded. "I hit Sunnydale on December 12, and it was very messy. All out war, pet. Darla and Angelus were vying for leadership of the Order and dragging the town into it. Normally, I'd stay out of it, never really cared for politics, but I went to Angelus and offered my services if he'd help Dru."  
  
Buffy looked at him.  
  
"Fuck," he whispered. "I wanted to blame you, afterwards. You were the reason I had to help him, and since I couldn't leave Dru on her own I had to take her with me."  
  
"What did he do?"  
  
"He helped her," Spike laughed bitterly. "Onto a stake."  
  
Buffy was so shocked she nearly dropped the tumbler. "He ... staked her?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. You -- or rather, the other Buffy -- came in right after that ... I'll never forget the look on her face," he said as he shook his head.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Angelus just smiled at her, so damn smug, so confident ... told her that he was in the process of destroying his past lovers and was doing the same for her, and wasn't she happy for his assistance? She looked so utterly vicious, yet so pained ... "  
  
"What happened?" Buffy asked again. "What do you know?"  
  
Spike leveled his eyes to hers. "I know that his obsession drove him and Darla over the edge very quickly. He started picking off your little friends one by one, starting with the werewolf and moving on from there. Meanwhile, Darla was raising Acathla and once you -- she -- stopped her, my GrandDam decided to attack her on a more ... familial level."  
  
"My mother," she whispered.  
  
He nodded. "Put her in a coma, where she is to this day."  
  
Buffy shuddered and fought back the tears that threatened to fall. "Who," she started only to hear her voice crack. "Did anyone ... besides me, her, whatever ... make it out alive?"  
  
"Just the Watcher and your -- her -- redheaded lover, the little witch."  
  
Buffy's eyes widened at this revelation, and tears fell unashamedly in that instance before she angrily brushed them away and gulped her drink, wincing at the sting. "What else," she demanded hoarsely. "If I'm stuck here I've gotta know."  
  
"If you're stuck here you'll have to read the diaries."  
  
"Damn you! Tell me!"  
  
Spike was about to open his mouth and retort when a chair was plunked down at the end of the table, and a body that would be the envy of any WWF wrestler took up residence. Buffy gasped at his eyes -- steel gray with no pupil or whites. It could have been contacts, but she knew without being told that contacts were not responsible for this ... it was a purely inhuman trait. "To begin with," he told them. "She ain't stuck here ... and you oughta tell 'er."  
  
"Fuck," Spike snarled. "You always interrupt private conversations, Fraxis?"  
  
"Not always," he drawled. "Just when I need to."  
  
"Would one of you tell me what's going on?" Buffy demanded.  
  
Spike snarled again but leaned back and lit another cigarette. "Fraxis is a Seer. Not clairvoyant, like Dru, and not like the bird you told me about. He and the rest of his kind are born that way, able to See things about people, demons, places ... you name, they see it. Of course, it doesn't always mean that it happens the way they see it."  
  
"Free will, Spike," Fraxis said, sounding to Buffy like an oft-repeated phrase. "Everyone's got free will and that changes things."  
  
Spike snorted. "Yeah, mate, right."  
  
"Take this Slayer for example," he continued as Buffy stiffened. "She chose to jump, to take her sister's place, even though said sister is really just a ball of energy. And right now she's inhabiting the body of one of her doppelgangers, but the soul that belongs to this body is still in there, trapped deep inside by whatever force brought your drinking companion here."  
  
"So she is still here," Buffy whispered. "That's why I seem to know some things, right?"  
  
"Yep, that's her getting through," Fraxis confirmed. "But you're in the driver's seat and you'll stay there until you leave, which'll be within the month."  
  
Spike perked up. "How'd you know that?"  
  
"I'm a Seer."  
  
"Bugger it all, you git, just tell us how you know."  
  
Fraxis sighed. "Both souls are Buffy, but only one has a claim to this body and she's still here. The two souls cannot cohabitate for more than a month without merging, and whatever force brought you here is keeping this dimension's Buffy trapped. In short, it's preventing a merger, but it has its limits. You will move on before a month is gone, to where I can't say, but I don't know exactly when it will happen ... and whatever happens between now and the time you leave will be determined by *your* free will. Clear?"  
  
"Sorta," Buffy frowned.  
  
"Good enough," he replied. "My work here is through. Spike, tell her, then take her home."  
  
Spike cursed under his breath as the Seer departed, then looked at the confused Slayer and cursed again. "Fuck it all," he muttered. "Okay, pet, here goes: Buffy killed Darla and stopped Acathla while the Watcher and the redhead cast a protection spell around the hospital where Joyce was being kept. However, Angelus went ape-shit and started raiding businesses and clubs, chasing you all over town. Eventually the sun came up and lots of idiot minions were fried and Buffy staked Angelus ... but missed the heart. When I got up that night everyone -- you, your Mum, your housekeeper, the Watcher and your girlfriend -- was gone. Angelus took a while to recover and is now at odds with the Mayor of Sunnydale, the Watcher is in England for reasons unknown and the redhead's parents put her in a private school. And your Dad moved you here even though the house wasn't finished."  
  
Buffy swallowed.  
  
"The rest is a Slayer with teenage angst or a borderline personality disorder, depending on who you ask," he finished. "Now, drink up so I can get you home before sunrise."  
  
***  
  
Buffy winced as the sun glinted off the steel chrome work of the stair rail in front of the hospital, and once more swallowed back all her doubts as to what she was about to do. Somewhere in this massive structure her mother lay in a coma, too far away to be reached but indubitably still alive. The very thought of seeing her mother again filled her with such conflicting emotions, none of which belonged to the other soul buried deep within -- all her worries and hang-ups were her own. As Fraxis had said, free will; this decision was hers to make, as were all the things she had done so far and everything she would until she left.  
  
So here she stood, readying herself to do something that she knew would hurt. Mommy, she thought desperately, why do you keep leaving me? Why am I always so alone with these burdens? Was Whistler right all those years ago, she wondered, when he told her that in the end all that she had was herself?  
  
As the light reflected off the glass she acknowledged that maybe he had been right, but in many different ways. Yes, she had had to face both Angelus and Angel by herself that sunny May morning, and there had been other moments when it was just her. But when she fought the Mayor she was not alone, and it had taken a combined effort to allow her to channel the First Slayer and defeat Adam. And while the decision to jump had been her own, her sister had been there with her, a comforting presence that allowed her to do what she had longed to do for so long. Yes, she acknowledged, she wanted to let go, to give in to the maelstrom of life and let it wash her away as she had the night of her seventeenth birthday ... to fall and fall as she had never since that night.  
  
It was about control, she realized. Only once had she allowed her control of life to falter and the results had been fatal and emotionally catastrophic, so afterwards she pulled at all the strands to keep them from unraveling. She ignored the thunderous rush of life that threatened to consume her at every turn, especially once she saw how giving in to the maelstrom had affected Faith. It was funny, so damned funny ... Faith had accused her of not knowing what it was like to be out of control, unable to stop, but that wasn't the truth. Buffy knew all about the lack of control, it was why she clung to control and fought so desperately to control as much of her life as she could. She knew she feared that powerlessness, that lack of control, because she feared its repercussions.  
  
But another conversation with Fraxis had imparted some startling advice that she was beginning to understand ... or at least realizing something that she'd had glimpses of. "You can only control the power, the maelstrom, for so long," he'd told her the following day after she'd sought him out. "Eventually you'll lose control and die, which is what you did. Or you just get swept away until you nearly die, which is what happened to your Faith. What you've got to learn -- and what you'd already begun to experience before you jumped -- is that it's not really about controlling the power or letting it control you. *You* are the power. It's a part of you that you don't fully understand yet, but you felt it when you called the First Slayer. In those minutes you were her, and she you. You didn't hesitate to act and you didn't regret your actions, nor did you have to control or be controlled. You simply were. It's that simple and that complicated. You know what that message said,  
that you've only just begun? It's the truth. You touched the power, felt the truth of that union for a short time and the Powers took notice. Why? Because no other Slayer has done that in over three thousand years -- not in your dimension or any other. You, my dear, are special and that's why you're here, to learn. Granted, you can't stay *here* but I imagine you'll just keep jumping into the Buffies of other dimensions 'til you get it straightened out."  
  
Unfortunately, Fraxis hadn't had any clue as to what would happen once she finished with her Magical Body Hopping Tour. Maybe she'd be reborn or she might just move on, though he doubted the latter. Why go to the trouble of allowing the Slayer to learn, to master her abilities only to have her depart the mortal plane? His money was on rebirth, but Buffy wasn't quite sure how she felt about that; would she even be herself, then, or just the ideal Slayer?  
  
It was neither here nor there, she decided as she tossed her drink in the trash and started up the steps. She was here to see her mother not debate her metaphysical condition and she pushed all those thoughts aside as she navigated the hallways and corridors, unerringly finding her way to the private room on the eighth floor. The door to room 816 was closed but Buffy didn't open it immediately, instead laying both her palms flat against the cool surface and trying to clear her mind of all extraneous thoughts. No one knew she was here and she wanted to keep it that way for now; she needed some privacy.  
  
The handle twisted without conscious thought or intention, and when her mind caught up with her body she found herself standing at the foot of the bed staring down at its sole occupant. Mommy. She swallowed convulsively, forcing back the bile that was rising in her throat. Here was her vibrant, loving mother ... as still as death but still alive. Tears pricked her eyes as she dragged a chair closer to the bed, taking her mother's hand in her own even as her knees no longer supported her slight frame. Joy and sorrow raced through her as the pale, thin face before her was replaced by a fuller face tinged with death, and she let out a shuddering breath and bowed her head.  
  
"I love you," she whispered. "I miss you so much ... I had no idea how hard it would be to take your place. I know *you* don't know what I'm talking about, but it doesn't really matter ... cause I think you understand. I'm Buffy and I'm hurting, that's all that ever mattered, and I know you'd try to make it better if you could. You loved Dawn even when you knew she wasn't a child of your body, you loved her because you were her mother ... like you love me. I tried, but I'm not you, Mommy ... I wanted to be you for her but I couldn't. And I know now that I was wrong to try."  
  
Buffy shuddered and took a deep breath. "I love you, but I won't apologize for being me, not any more. I'm not perfect and I'll never be the little girl you wanted me to be ... but I know you'll love me regardless."  
  
"Well said."  
  
Buffy swiveled in her seat to a nurse standing in the doorway and swallowed. "How long have you been there?"  
  
"Long enough," she said, pushing a cart into the room and around to the other side of the bed. "Long enough to know that regardless of what's said, that you're nothing but a teenager who's been through some horrible experiences and all but lost her mother, not the mental patient some people around here think you are."  
  
Buffy snorted at the thought. "They're just ... "  
  
"Idiots," the nurse finished. "Go ahead and say it. Frankly, I think your father should have gotten a second opinion when you were admitted this past spring, but he was so upset that he grabbed the first explanation that made any sense. He loves you and your mother so much, it's so obvious, and he hates that he's had to be away ... he blames himself."  
  
"You studying psychology on the side?" Buffy asked dryly.  
  
"Nah," the nurse replied. "It's just observable humanity. You made a mistake, got tangled up in something bad while you were still grieving -- and who'd blame you? But it was easy for them to write off your experiences as a mental illness, especially since no one really knows what happened and no one's willing to accept your side of the story."  
  
"How'd you learn so much?"  
  
The nurse, Janice Hardesty -- Buffy glimpsed her identification -- gave her a small smile. "My sister's a nurse, too. She works at Sunnydale General."  
  
"Oh ... OH!"  
  
Janice sighed. "Yeah, I wish she'd come home. Lots of weird stuff happens in that town, but she told me when I asked about you and your mom that you were a good kid. I trust her judgment."  
  
"So ... "  
  
"So," Janice repeated. "Look, I'm sorry but visiting hours on this floor are over for today. New policy instituted by new management. Those of us who work up here did our best to appeal the decision, but they pretty much ignored us. Try to get here a few hours earlier next time, okay?"  
  
"S-sure," Buffy stuttered. "Can I ... say goodbye?"  
  
Janice's face softened and her eyes filled with pity. "Go ahead. I'll wait outside and make sure no one climbs on your back about not knowing the new policy."  
  
"Thanks," Buffy said softly.  
  
As the door clicked shut Buffy squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, exhaling to the sound of the various monitors attached to her mother. Opening her eyes she leaned over and pressed a kiss to her mother's forehead, brushing her lips against the warm, dry flesh in farewell. Sniffling she drew back and pushed a stray burgundy lock of hair behind her ear, noticing how lank her mother's own dark blonde locks were in comparison to the vibrant hues her daughter was sporting. Smiling sadly, Buffy reached down and brushed her mother's hair back from her check, instinctively knowing that the nurses would wash it soon. She was just about to turn away when she saw something just behind her mother's ear, and frowned as she gently lifted the hair away to see better. A small black circle with a wavy 'U' shaped line through it graced her mother's neck and Buffy's frown deepened, becoming worry when the line shifted position.  
  
She blinked, sure that it was a hallucination brought on by stress. When she looked again, however, the line had changed; it was now more of a 'V' pattern. Buffy backed away slowly and nibbled on her lower lip, unsure of what to do. It was magick, it had to be, she thought hazily as she fumbled with the handle, fully on autopilot as Janice walked her to the elevator.  
  
Spike had said Darla attacked her mother, but not how, and it almost made sense. Angelus had been using force to kill her friends, so it followed that Darla wanted to do something that would tell Buffy exactly who was responsible. A little different from the Darla she remembered, the one who was willing to let Angel take the blame for her mother's attack. At least she's consistent, Buffy fumed inwardly as she descended the steps outside the hospital. She was so caught up in her own personal thoughts and worries, racking her brain to remember if Wesley had left a number where she could reach him and, if not, if she could find a way to contact him, that she didn't even notice the guy she ran into.  
  
The collision took her breath away and she took a few quick steps back, stuttering out an apology. An older man just stared back at her for a few seconds, then his lips twisted into a grimace and he walked away muttering about idiot teenagers who had no sense of respect. Buffy resisted the urge to race after him and demand an apology for the cruel words that struck her more deeply than before, instinctively knowing that no good would come of it. Instead she looked to the side, catching a glimpse of her reflection in a store window. Not exactly confidence inspiring, she thought, looking away as a nearby sign caught her eye.  
  
'Walk-ins welcome.'  
  
Buffy started toward the building before she even recognized what she was doing, but she didn't even hesitate as she stepped through the door. Free will, she reminded herself. Until I leave this dimension this might as well be my life, so I might as well take some responsibility for it.  
  
A red-haired stylist looked up from her magazine as Buffy walked in. "I need some help," she told the other woman.  
  
"I'll say," the redhead answered. "But this is my specialty, so take a seat."  
  
Buffy sank into the chair and stared at the woman in the mirror, who asked, "What do you want?"  
  
"A change, a good change," she replied. "This is just so not me."  
  
The stylist chewed her lip as she studied Buffy from all angles, taking in the dark roots and burgundy streaked platinum. "A good cut, layered, I think ... yes, that'll work," she said, brushing out the hair and separating it into sections.  
  
Buffy said nothing as the woman cut her hair, instead staring at her reflection. She was still so young, she realized suddenly, not yet eighteen, but full of horror and eyes that told almost anyone that she had seen too much in her few short years. It was a bit disconcerting, but she put it aside as the scissors gave their final snip and the stylist, Annie, faced her in the mirror. "What next?"  
  
"Next, we condition this mop and pray it doesn't fall out," Annie told her. "Then we go from there."  
  
***  
  
Three hours later and several dollars poorer, Buffy stepped out of the salon and smiled, truly smiled, for the first time in months. Her head felt lighter in more than one sense although she knew she was far from okay, but just seeing the soft, sleek locks brush the tops of her shoulders made her feel better. The second layer curved in just under her chin; it was a little similar to the style she'd worn her junior year, but the rich chestnut brown with lighter golden highlights and lack of bangs were more upscale and sophisticated and less in need of styling products. At the thought of styling products she shook the bag she carried, hearing the plastic bottles of shampoo and conditioner bump one another as she recalled Annie's firm advice.  
  
"No curling irons, blow-dryers or hot rollers," she repeated to herself as she entered her father's neighborhood. "Just use a simple round brush and a small amount of gel to style, with just enough hairspray to hold if absolutely necessary. Wash with the shampoo and conditioner and come back in a month for touch-ups. Nope, not hard."  
  
As Buffy let herself in the front door she could hear voices coming from the kitchen and stopped, cocking her head. Mattie's voice she recognized easily even after all these years, but who else ...  
  
Her question was answered when her father stepped into the entryway and stopped, staring at her. Buffy took a deep breath and shut the door as she stepped further into the room, watching his face for signs of ... something. Anything. Her perusal was returned; he was looking her over carefully, from the boots and jacket from the night before to the tailored sage green sweater and another pair of jeans. Most of his attention rested on her face, however, and she knew that her eyes told him things he didn't know, didn't want to know.  
  
Then there was the hair.  
  
"You changed your hair," he said softly, his voice the same as the father she vaguely remembered but the timbre and feeling were vastly different.  
  
Buffy gave him a lopsided smile. "Yeah, I did. It was ... this is more me, you know?"  
  
He smiled at her then, a smile full of love and affection, one she remembered only from her childhood and from Giles. "I'm glad," he told her. "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you yesterday, sweetheart, I just got caught in a long debate with the Senate committee ... I had to stay or risk losing a year's worth of work. Mattie told me what happened ... I'm so sorry, Buffy. I should have been here for you. There's really no excuse ... "  
  
Buffy had to remind herself to breathe. He was so different, so unlike the father she'd known that for a minute she felt adrift and unable to form coherent thoughts. Then the veil lifted and she realized that many, many things had gone differently here, both good and ill. "It's okay," she whispered, then cleared her throat. "I mean, Mattie was here and you're here now, so ... can we talk, Daddy? Really talk?"  
  
Hank smiled softly, his eyes radiant despite the weariness etched on face. "Sure, sweetie. Just let me change and we'll talk."  
  
[end part 3] 


	4. Reasons To Fall

TITLE: Free Fall [4/4]  
  
CHALLENGE: Timeline  
  
AUTHOR: Nymue  
  
EMAIL: josette@aol.com  
  
SITE: http://lesanctuaire.dreamhost.com  
  
RATED: PG13  
  
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Not yours. They belong to Joss, the WB, UPN and FOX. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction. No infringement is intended.  
  
DISTRIBUTION: Lex, Pamela, Deede and Lar (if they want it). All others please ask; I'll probably say yes, but ask first.  
  
SUMMARY: Buffy closed the portal to save the world, but ended up in a strangely familiar body in a world where everything she ever knew took an oddly different course ... and Wesley and Spike are only the beginning. AU exploration of what could have happened to Buffy after the portal closed.  
  
SPOILERS: "The Gift"  
  
FEEDBACK: Is much appreciated  
  
***  
  
Part Four: Reasons to Fall  
  
***  
  
Freedom is what you do with what's been done to you.  
  
-- Jean-Paul Sartre  
  
***  
  
--November 10, 1998--  
  
I've been putting this off for two weeks now, but since I could leave this dimension any day I thought it was time. Most of my thoughts, the things I've done or said here, I've written down on loose paper and pressed into your first diary because I didn't think I had the right to write in this book. However, I've decided that that reasoning was just a cover, a way for me to forget about you while I lived your life. So, it stops now.  
  
I don't know how much you'll know when I'm gone. You might be trapped like we both were on Halloween, able to see and hear everything but do nothing, and if so then you know what I've done and why I've done it. Then again you might have been asleep for the past couple of weeks and when you wake up you'll have a bunch of fuzzy memories ... or maybe the time I've spent in your body will be a big blank. I have to admit that the last one scares me, so that's why I've written down everything on separate pieces of paper. That way it's there if you need it ... and if not, you can forget about it.  
  
But I'm writing here so that you won't forget. So that you can't ignore what's happened. And because I've got a few things to tell you.  
  
First off, we've got to talk about the wardrobe. The pink leather pants are okay -- in fact, they look really good with that black tailored blouse with the three-quarter length sleeves. Even the gold lace corset is salvageable, it works well with that tawny lace dress, you know, the one with the handkerchief hem and beaded spaghetti straps. But do not, under ANY circumstances, ever wear them together again -- it's just hideous!  
  
And as for that neon lime green bandeau top? You have a working fireplace and I put it to good use. End of story.  
  
Fraxis was right about the free will bit, too. In getting my life together I got your life together ... or is it the other way around? I don't know and I don't think it matters. And, all things considered, I'm probably the last person who should be giving advice.  
  
But here goes.  
  
You've had some bad shit in your life, but so have I ... I'm not telling you to just get over it, because you can't. You can pretend all you like but the truth will always be there, and the truth is that you lost some of the people you loved. Nothing can bring your Xander, Cordelia, Oz, Amy and Jenny back -- nothing can undo what happened in Sunnydale -- nothing will make you that innocent ever again.  
  
But you have a father who loves you, who really cares. He'll be able to handle the Slayer stuff, trust me; I would know, after all. Hell, your parents never separated -- forget divorced. You have Mattie. Giles is just waiting for you to get it together and get back to work and I'm sure Wesley would be overjoyed if you wanted to hunt Angelus (which you should, by the way, and in my notes you'll find a detailed account of what's up with Mayor Wilkins). Spike can be manipulated if you play your cards right and he's pretty handy in a fight.  
  
Your mother is going to wake up soon. Wesley looked up the sign I described (after verifying it for himself, of course) and it's a sleep spell used by demons to put a difficult target to sleep so that they can be killed more easily. The thing is, if the victim isn't killed or doesn't die within a year then the spell is automatically voided. That means come December 12 she'll wake up ... which is something I'll never have even if I get back to my dimension.  
  
And you have Willow.  
  
You know, that's what wigged me the most about your life. Then I read the diaries and thought about it -- REALLY thought about it -- and I can honestly say that I might have done the same. She's been our best friend ... she's your lover and she still loves you desperately. How do I know?  
  
I emailed her.  
  
Yeah, you read that right. I tracked down that school her parents enrolled her in and found her new email address, sent her a message from a public terminal (using free web mail -- again, details in my notes) and viola! Guess what? The school's in Baltimore so she's not that far away ... and she graduates in mid-January. I told her everything. She knows that I'm not you, but she knows you'll be you again soon and she can't wait, but you can email her and get it from the horse's mouth.  
  
And according to what I can figure, Wesley's tutoring has put you ahead of the game as well. You'll be eighteen in a little over a month (again, see notes for things to watch for) and you can go take the test and get your GED. Or maybe Wesley's tutoring comes with a high school equivalency test, I don't know. My point is, by March you and Willow will be high school graduates and legally of age.  
  
Get Giles, go back to the Hellmouth and stop Angelus and the Mayor.  
  
Love Willow and your parents.  
  
Like Fraxis told me, you've got free will. Use it. You can't undo the past, but you can make your future better.  
  
But live, Buffy.  
  
LIVE.  
  
***  
  
Stretching her arms and yawning, Buffy pushed away from the desk and stood up, tossing the pen onto the desk beside the open diary. She groaned as her back popped and leaned over to touch her toes, stretching muscles that had begun to cramp while she sat writing. However, as she stood, she was hit by a wave nausea inducing vertigo and gasped, squeezing her eyes shut as she felt herself fall ...  
  
Scant seconds later she realized the sick feeling was gone and she opened her eyes not to the ceiling with intricate scrollwork to which she had become accustomed, but to a blue sky and bright sunlight. Rolling her eyes she could see nothing else and started to sit up only to discover that doing so hurt her head, causing an involuntary groan to escape her parched parched? throat.  
  
"Damn it, B, you scared me!" a familiar voice chastised.  
  
Buffy felt strong arms help her up and Faith's face came into view, worry etched on her features. Beyond that was desert, miles and miles of desert and nothing but. A sick feeling gripped her mind as she realized what had happened, but she shoved it away in favor of concentrating on her present circumstances. Once she was steady on her feet the supportive arms reluctantly released her, allowing her to turn and face the other member in this little drama.  
  
"Pike?"  
  
He laughed. "Yeah, who'd you expect?"  
  
The shocked expression on her face told both her companions that something was wrong. "You okay, B?" Faith asked. "That was a hell of a hit to your head, maybe you should sit back down."  
  
Buffy shook her head. "No, my head feels fine ... it's just that I need to tell you something, but ... "  
  
Pike nodded. "This place is too open, too exposed for a talk. We need to find shelter for the night."  
  
"But should she drive?" Faith pointed out.  
  
"She's gonna have to."  
  
"Hello," Buffy grumbled. "I'm right here."  
  
Pike laughed again, but this time it sounded genuine. "If she can quip she's fine, Faith. Don't worry about Buffy -- she too damn tough."  
  
Tough, Buffy wondered. Looking down she found herself encased in black leather from head to toe, the only exception being the gray cotton tank top. Before she could do more, however, Faith was pulling her toward the nearby road. "Let's get going, B. Time to play with the boytoy later," she said as they rounded a large cactus.  
  
Buffy stopped dead in her tracks.  
  
"C'mon, B," Faith called as she climbed astride one of three black Harleys.  
  
"Yeah, let's make dust," Pike said, claiming one of the other bikes.  
  
Both stared back at her and Buffy realized they were waiting for her to climb up on the last remaining deathtrap. But I barely drive a car, she wailed internally. What am I supposed to do?  
  
Buffy shut her eyes and swore.  
  
"Fuck ... "'  
  
END 


End file.
